It's Okay
by frogginator
Summary: Jak II.AUish.sorta JxD - After a mission, Jak comes home a little beat up and (non-ottsel) Daxter has to patch him up. Just a little angsty cute story.


Author's Note: 

Ummmmm...yeah.   
  
Jak and Daxter shounen ai. *hides*  
  
It's still slightly rough. I might edit later, but I dunno.  
  
Normally I'm not a yaoi/shounen ai fan, and most of the time I don't even like it when there's no canon evidence or whatever, like in this particular situation...but...  
  
Um, yeah. The pairing is so cute. And fluffy. And full of potential for angst and awkwardness. I couldn't help myself, dammit!  
  
Warnings: minor language, a bit of blood (nothing major), boys who sorta like each other but don't quite know it yet  
  
Also...  
  
Consider it an AU or something, where Dax got changed back into a human at some point after he rescued Jak but before they cleaned the sewers of the big gun things, which is where I am in the game. So before Keira. Yeah. 

~*~

Jak collapsed on the bed in the small room at the hostel they'd been renting for months. He closed his eyes momentarily, his head throbbing in the light. He tried to work up the energy to get his ass up off the bed and turn the light down, but there was no use. He could barely move as it was, and wasn't at all sure how he'd managed to get home without falling off his zoomer. It was days like this that he missed having Daxter sitting on his shoulder, chattering his ear off, keeping him awake and sane.   
  
"Daxter?" he asked quietly, his eyes still closed. His whole body had started up an angry thumping of pain as a counterpoint to the throbbing of his head. As was made obvious by the lack of a loud, obnoxious voice, Dax wasn't home yet. Jak groaned and forced his arms to pluck at the leather strap on his chest in a vain attempt to get it off. He felt cramped and too warm and sore, bruised and battered after his latest mission, with blood on his face and body. He wasn't sure how badly he was hurt, but he knew he probably needed to force himself to stand up and get his shirt off, and deal with something. He laid his hand on his chest where it hurt and felt wetness under the blue cloth.  
  
Groaning, he tried to open his eyes but couldn't, "Daxter?" he called. His voice sounded strange, a little smaller than usual. But it was always that way with Daxter. When he was with Daxter he could almost feel his old self flitting around under the surface. He didn't have to be tough and hard, he could just be…Jak.  
  
"Daxter?" he asked again. It was a croak this time, and he heard footsteps outside the door. Finally the little rodent was getting his ass here. Jak tilted his head back and focused on breathing normally while keys fumbled in the lock and the doorknob turned.  
  
Daxter managed to get the door open, fumbling with his cold fingers. It was freezing out there, and the little redhead wasn't accustomed to going without fur quite yet. He pushed the door closed and locked it soundly, looking at the little room that housed all of his and Jak's equally little life. It was comfortable, and it was home, though, and safe, with Jak and his guns there – and that's all that Daxter could ask for. That and his job at the Hip Hog as a bartender.  
  
He tossed his keys on his bunk and looked over at Jak's bunk. Jak was lying there on the bed silently, his hand on his chest, half covering a bloodstain under the cloth, his face peppered with cuts and darkened with bruises. Daxter took a sharp breath and just looked at his roommate and best friend silently.   
  
Well, maybe there was something else he could ask for.  
  
God…he wished Jak didn't have to be this way. Every time he looked at his friend all he wanted to see was Jak the way he'd been at home, before all this. He was still cocky and sarcastic, and they still shared their silent moments where a nod of the head and decent eye contact could communicate everything – but Jak was different. It was like he was the same sensitive, somewhat goofy person, but hidden under a layer of harsh reality. The torture he'd experienced had taken its toll on him and it seemed like he just couldn't connect with the person inside anymore. Jak was a walking cry for help, and Daxter sometimes wished he could just…fix it.   
  
Harsh guilt knifed through him. Even now, after he'd finally gotten rid of his ottsel form, he still couldn't fix it. If only he'd been able to rescue Jak sooner. If only he could have kept him somehow from pressing that button so long ago in Sandover Village. If only all of this wasn't his own fault.  
  
"D-daxter?" Jak asked, his voice small. His eyelids fluttered and he lifted a hand in Daxter's direction. His voice snapped Daxter back to reality, and he stopped hugging himself for warmth in the middle of a room, and walked over to Jak.  
  
"Yeah buddy?" he asked, the loud voice seeming for some reason stranger coming from a small guy in the ends of teenagerhood with longish red hair than it had coming from a little orange ottsel. He sat down on the end of the bed between Jak's feet, looking up at him.  
  
"Something needs fixing." Jak grunted, lifting his hand and letting it drop with a small wince.   
  
Oh. Yeah. The bloodstains.   
  
Daxter stood up and walked over to the head of the bed, and knelt down beside it, digging under the bed for the first aid kit and a large bottle of clean water that had cost them a lot. Daxter's stomach started to knot up like it did every time he had to do this. He never knew what he would find under Jak's tunic - and he'd found everything from scratches to broken ribs. It was always a macabre game guessing how bad it would be this time.  
  
"Ya know, this is the reason this stuff is stored under YOUR bed. I'm smart enough to avoid getting my tail shot off in stupid missions. But you!" he said loudly, boldly, trying to mask how scared he was. His fingers fumbled with the straps on Jak's chest as Jak lifted his arms to help Daxter get him out of the leather strappings. Then Daxter, with a little help, tugged off Jak's shirt, leaving his chest bare in the cool room. Jak moaned slightly as the cloth peeled from his skin and Daxter caught his breath. Not too bad this time. It was just a cut…a deep one, but just a cut, not something life-threatening, not something bad. Just a cut.  
  
"Is it bad?" Jak asked, trying to open his eyes, but closing them quickly and putting a hand over his face with a grunt.   
  
"Nope. I proclaim you fully intact!" Daxter announced, and then stood up to turn the light down. Jak's eyes fluttered open and watched Daxter's movements as he opened the first aid kit and dig around for bandages and disinfectant. His hands always moved so extravagantly, large and full of expression. It was strange how things didn't change when he changed into an ottsel. After a little while where Daxter was resentful, it went back to normal. Like it had been from the time they met, it was two best friends, two guys hanging out and having adventures together. Then this new world, and Jak taken away and experimented on. Two years of pain and Daxter was nowhere to be found. And Jak had wanted him, more than anyone else. Sometimes it was the only thing he was aware of, he knew Daxter was coming. And even when it was two years later, he knew that Daxter would have come earlier if he could. It wasn't anyone's fault but Baron Praxis. The name dug at the fury and hatred inside Jak and he mumbled under his breath.  
  
"Praxis." It came out as a hiss of anger, and Daxter looked at Jak's face.  
  
"Jak, can you just think about something else for a while?" he asked. His face was uncharacteristically sensitive, a little taken aback. He was putting disinfectant on a clean cloth and Jak winced as Daxter pressed it down against the wound on his chest.  
  
"I just can't stand what this is doing to us, Dax." Jak said. Daxter looked up at him sharply.   
  
"Yeah buddy." Daxter said quietly, "I can't either."  
  
"It's all Praxis' fault." Jak remarked, "That's why I do this."  
  
"I'd rather you didn't." Daxter responded, patting more disinfectant into the wound and then wiping the skin down with clean water.  
  
"I have to." Jak said.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"To get myself back." Jak said, looking at the wall, the ceiling, anything but Daxter, "You have yourself back. I don't. I don't know…"  
  
"I don't have myself back either, Jak." Daxter said, "It's damn stupid, but I don't have me back without you being…well you."  
  
Jak watched him again as he taped a bandage over the cut and then started cleaning up other small scratches and bruises with some water. Things had changed while he was in prison. Things had changed a lot. Spending so long needing someone can make your feelings about them change, even when they come back. Even when you think your feelings should go back to normal. Even when they're an ottsel and you're not.  
  
And things had changed even more when he wasn't an ottsel anymore.  
  
"Yeah well I can't be me without killing Praxis. He killed me first." Jak grunted. Daxter silently kept washing him off, his movements curt and harsh, though not painful.  
  
"It's not dead. It's just…I dunno, LOST or something!" Daxter said loudly.  
  
Jak closed his eyes and tried to relax, loosening every muscle in his body from the tight, wound-up state he'd been in from the pain and the light in his eyes. But he could rest now, and just soak in the heat of his bed and the feeling of Daxter's hands on his chest. Daxter was here and fixing the things that hurt…well, most of the things that hurt.  
  
"Daxter, why are we here? Why did this happen to me?" Jak meant to think them, not say them. Especially not in that weak, quiet tone of voice. Especially not with that quiver and that gasp afterwards.  
  
"You're the hero, Jak." Daxter said quietly, "I guess the hero's gotta go through all the tough stuff to get the happy ending." His hands paused for a moment on the bandage, and then patted once, very gently, an awkward attempt at comfort. Jak turned his face away from Daxter; his closed eyes not enough of a barrier as heat flooded his face. Goddamn Daxter for making him let his guard down! There were hot tears behind his eyes and that was the last thing he wanted his friend to see. Maybe hear sometimes when Jak was asleep and off-guard, but never in the light when he was awake.  
  
"I'm okay, Dax." he choked, trying to roll over, "You can leave me alone if you want." Heat swallowed him up as he fought a breaking feeling inside.  
  
Daxter looked at Jak's hunched shoulders, his body looking so much smaller than usual. He wasn't sure if it was because he wasn't a little animal anymore, or because he could sense the twisting of Jak's moods, but Jak seemed so small. The tension in the room hit a high as he remained silent, quivering around him almost audibly. His heart felt like it was buzzing with electricity inside him and his stomach cramped up.   
  
Jak was nearly crying, and he wanted to be alone.  
  
'Maybe', Daxter thought, 'I should just leave him alone. Go out now and come back later when he's finished…'  
  
Guilt stabbed through him. How could Jak be so incredibly tough and hard, but still have something even more innocent than his Sandover self lurking underneath? How could he even think of leaving Jak alone with the demons, yet again? He was always leaving, and it wasn't fixing anything. Jak wasn't fixing anything by himself.  
  
"I left you alone enough. I'm tired of leaving you alone now." Daxter said, his voice carefully deadpan. Jak chewed hard on his lip, feeling Daxter's gaze on his shoulder. Feeling Daxter's hand on his shoulder, "Jak, come on. Just roll over, and let me finish cleaning you up. It's okay."  
  
"It's NOT okay!" Jak said suddenly, his voice becoming a hoarse, growling, shout as he violently rolled over and glared at Daxter, "I didn't fucking ASK to be the hero!" Daxter shrank back for a moment, probably afraid Dark Jak was going to rip his throat out, and Jak felt a stab of pain. He never wanted anyone to look at him like that, but Daxter least of all. He was supposed to be Daxter's best friend, he should never look like that…  
  
But then Daxter put his hand on Jak's shoulder again.  
  
"It's okay. Seriously." Daxter said, meeting Jak's eyes.  
  
"It won't ever be okay." Jak said, glaring at the roof, "I have to kill Praxis."  
  
Daxter made a sound in his throat, "Killing Praxis won't make it okay."  
  
"What will make it okay then? Huh?" Jak challenged, still staring at the ceiling.  
  
"I will." Daxter said. Jak, a little startled, turned his head and looked over at his red-haired friend, whose eyes - open and honest for once - were looking at him with some indefinable emotion in them. Something between guilt and sympathy and something Jak couldn't remember to put a name to. Daxter made a noise in his throat and looked away, but Jak grabbed him by the chin and turned his face forcibly back so he could see Daxter's eyes. He wanted to know what they were saying. Daxter wasn't afraid anymore, and simply stared back openly.  
  
"Let me finish cleaning you up." Daxter said firmly. Jak nodded, and gently let go of Daxter's face. Daxter wet the cloth in his hand again, and started cleaning Jak's face of dirt and dried blood with small, soft strokes.  
  
For some reason, Jak didn't feel like crying anymore. 


End file.
